What No One Else Could Say
by Relatively Unknown
Summary: Another Radar vignette, only this time with a poem I wrote from Radar's POV tucked inside as well. Please read and review if you can.


**A/N**: I'm on a _MASH_ kick, can you tell?

Anyhow, I watched "Abyssinia, Henry" (again) last night and I felt the itch to write again, only it was a poem itch. So, of course, I wrote a poem from Radar's POV.

This is the result. _Sigh_. I'm such an addict. _Grin_.

Enjoy.

(_P.S._: Sorry about all the lines, but won't let me edit it properly or even show it correctly, as usual.)

* * *

Radar looked at the paper before him, filled with his scratchy handwriting and lines that had crossed words or phrases out. It was late, probably closer to dawn than it was midnight, and he was working by one of the few oil lamps that the camp possessed. He hadn't wanted to use any artificial lighting; it just didn't seem right. 

He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He was tired, but it more of a weariness of the soul than any physical desire to sleep. He hadn't slept since Henry had died; his dreams were plagued with visions of the plane's attack and eventually crash into the Sea of Japan. He knew that everyone was worried about him, not for the great amount of grief he showed, but rather the lack of it. He preferred to grieve alone, quietly, and had told Sidney as much when the doctor had inquired him about it. The psychiatrist had, thankfully, left it alone at that.

Still...

He sighed and began to rewrite his words on a new piece of paper. It was almost funny how they flowed so well now, unlike earlier when he was nearly ready to beat his head off his desk. A more private person than he let on-- especially with his feelings-- he found it unbearably hard to put his thoughts to paper. Often during the night he wanted to simply give up, but he knew deep down that Sidney was right. He needed to do this. All of them did.

It had been Sidney's idea to have everyone in the camp to write out their grief about Henry, either by relating their favorite memories or just by what they felt at the moment. It didn't how it was written, Sidney had said, and Radar knew that a few had written theirs out as a letter to Henry. He hadn't seen any, but he didn't need to.

Unlike most, he had waited until tonight to write his out. It had been a week since Sidney first suggested the idea, and everyone had already written theirs and turned it in. (They were to be published a large "book" for everyone to read; anonymity was allowed.) It wasn't that he was too busy to do it, he just didn't want to. He didn't want to deal with the grief. The pain he felt-- though he knew everyone else felt it, too-- was so deep and personal. How could he ever deal with it?

Even so, he knew had to, and had begun to write as soon as he was left alone for the night.

Satisfied with the neat copy, he folded it up and placed it inside an envelope. He put it in the bag that held all the others, which Sidney would take to Seoul have them published together. He would be back next week with them, and finally the "great healing," as Father Mulcahy called it, could begin.

Idly, Radar wondered if he would ever heal as he blew out the lamp.

Sidney was back from Seoul, and the pamphlets were handed out almost immediately. Radar had been busy at the time wrangling with Sparky and a few others over the wires, which kept him busy until night rolled around again. Finally, he managed to pick up a copy and open it up. To his surprise, he was the very first one.

He closed the little book; he didn't need to read it. He knew what it said, and knew that the entire camp was reading it.

* * *

_"Henry"_

_by Radar O'Reilly_

_-_

_You were the father_

_I never really had_

_You knew how to cheer me up_

_When I was sad_

_You knew my gift_

_But you didn't really mind_

_In fact you relied on it_

_Most of the time_

_You taught this country boy_

_So much about life_

_Including how not to cut myself_

_When holding a knife_

_You taught me about girls_

_And what they like_

_I'm still too shy to try, though_

_Afraid of being told to take a hike_

_One time you saved me_

_When I was really sick_

_I don't know how to express_

_How much I thank you for it_

_You were always there_

_In good humor and heart_

_It hurt me in my soul_

_To see your helicopter depart_

_For, you see, that is why_

_I am writing this_

_You gave me so much_

_But not this wish_

_I ask you to forgive me_

_Because I made a mistake_

_You left that day_

_And my radar came too late_

_I'm sorry, so sorry_

_That I couldn't save you_

_I didn't know in time_

_And there was nothing I could do_

_You have orphaned children_

_And a widowed wife_

_Because I was moment over_

_You lost your life_

_I knew, I knew!_

_But only after you were gone_

_I didn't say a word_

_I hoped I was wrong_

_I wanted to_

_But where would I begin?_

_So I waited and cried_

_For the call to come in_

_I was numb then_

_What could I say?_

_But even so_

_I gave the message without delay_

_I know if you were here_

_You'd cheer me up somehow_

_But I'm all alone_

_And I have no one now_

_There are the others_

_But they're grieving, too_

_What will happen_

_When I tell them I knew?_

_I wonder if they'll hate me_

_Deep down inside_

_I wouldn't blame them_

_I know I didn't try_

_I know I said_

_I want you to forgive_

_But how can you_

_When I didn't let you live?_

_I hope you're happy_

_Wherever you are_

_And I hope that maybe_

_It's not really so far_

_In my life I know_

_My only regret will be_

_That I wasn't there for you_

_The way you were there for me_

_Like a father and son_

_Is what we were_

_And in the end all I can say is_

_I miss you, sir_

* * *

He cried. He thought that all the tears would have left him by now, but still he cried. 

He sat at his desk, head buried in his arms. His tears fell onto the pamphlet, causing the ink to run. It looked as if it, too, was crying.

* * *

That night, the entire camp cried at Radar's words. Even Sidney, who had read the poem and had purposely placed at the beginning, cried as he read them again. No other person had written anything as deep or moving, unable to put their grief into words. Out of them all, it was the quiet company clerk who grieved alone that could say what everyone else thought and felt. 

Hawkeye couldn't finish it; he had Trapper read it to him, though he, too, had to pause every few lines to wipe his eyes and try to make it to the end. They had tried to keep it together with their normal barrage of jokes and semi-good humor, but it hadn't worked. Hawkeye had drowned himself in liquor at the Swamp, while Trapper hid out in Rosie's Bar most of the time. This was the first both they and Frank had all been together in the Swamp since...

Frank had read it silently, and then had listened as Trapper read it aloud. He didn't say a word or move from where he sat on his cot. He hadn't liked Henry much, but nobody deserved to die. Tears tracks had been visible on his face since that fateful day in the OR. He had always wanted to be the commander of the 4077th, but not like this. Never like this.

Margaret and her nurses had read it together in their quarters, crying and holding each other. She wasn't brave, stern Margaret Houlihan tonight, but rather a tearful mess that missed her former commander-- and her friend-- terribly. They held each other for comfort, but all felt that there was no true comfort out there. Nothing could take away the pain.

Klinger was in Father Mulcahy's tent. He hadn't been able to make it through, either, and had gone to the priest to have it read to him, though the padre was having as trouble making it through as Trapper was. Sidney was with them, but not as counselor. He shared the grief this time. They all did.

Radar had cried himself to sleep that night, unaware that he had been able to say and write what no one else could. The quiet country boy from Midwest was the one had written what the entire camp had wanted to, and from then on, they would all give him a respect that no one, not even he himself, could express.

And that, the company knew, was Radar's true gift.


End file.
